In the middle of the night...

His warm head feels heavy in the bend of my arm, though I know it is not. The heat of his skin on mine causes little beads of sweat to form on the inside of my elbow. I reach for a blanket to put a barrier between his fuzzy scalp and my arm, so I don't make him uncomfortable.

He takes deep, thirsty pulls on his bottle making hmmmff pfffffffff noises through his nose. His arms are still wrapped in his swaddling blanket, prone at his sides, like a soldier at attention in my arms. His feet are out because he's gotten a little tall for the blanket and they kick at the air, bicylcing somewhere in his dreams. He stays asleep during these night feedings.

I hear his grunts and rousings before he's fully awake, and whisk him out of the room in the darkness. I change his diaper without unwrapping him, in the dark and still house, the moonlight often as bright as dawn through the windows. I can see the backyard fully in the milky white light and wonder if there's a raccoon on my deck, looking for a meal for her babies. I don't talk to him or even smile at him so that he stays asleep, so that I can get back to my warm bed as quickly as possible.

I sit in the silence and the darkness, the music of the cat batting around a toy and the whir of the central air the only soundtrack as he finishes his bottle within minutes. I prop him on my shoulder and feel his face find that spot in the corner of my neck where it seems to fit like a puzzle piece. I inhale his smell and trace the velvety outline of his hairline with my lips as I rhythmically pat-pat-pat on his tiny back. He lets out a whooooooooof of air and sometimes gets the hiccups.

I return him to the crook of my arm, wipe his mouth, and carry him wordlessly up the stairs. I put him back in his bed and he sucks happily on his pacifier without ever opening his eyes.

I creak open her door and peek in. She's come uncovered, so I go to her and pull her her fuzzy blanket to her chin. I brush the hair off her forehead and kiss her cool skin. She often rouses, looks at me, and says "hi momma" before clutching her doll, replacing her pacifier, and falling back into her dream world.

I close the door as silently as I can behind me and slip under my covers next to my warm husband. Sometimes, I lie awake and listen to the breathing of the three people whose life I'd give mine for. In and out. In and out.

Often, so often, in tune together.

The symphony of my family.